


take shelter in me

by venomedveins



Series: of magic & monsters [2]
Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Incest, M/M, Mpreg, Smut, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-22
Updated: 2015-03-22
Packaged: 2018-03-19 00:58:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3590319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venomedveins/pseuds/venomedveins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Agron and Nasir are newly married, but pressure begins to rise. Can the couple survive the turmoil around them or will they be ruined forever?</p>
            </blockquote>





	take shelter in me

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much habibinasir for being my amazing beta!

Sunlight hints along the bottom edge of the tent, just a soft glow across the floor, barely illuminating the bed. Laying sprawled on his stomach, Nasir snores softly into his pillow, long hair spilled out beside him. Agron lays curled against him, lightly tracing the soft knobs of his spine. His skin is so soft, smooth, and without any sort of mark or blemish, except for the tattoo on his tailbone. He's the most delicate and beautiful thing that Agron has ever seen, and in the morning light, it awes him. 

Agron has been awake for a while, rising with the sun like usual, but he can't seem to draw himself away from bed. Nasir is so perfect, laying pliable and warm against Agron's side. Curling his body over Nasir, he presses a soft, wet kiss to his shoulder, tasting the faint tang of salt still clinging there - a lasting memory of last night. 

He moves his mouth down further, tracing the curve of one shoulder blade with the tip of his tongue. Agron wants to memorize every inch of Nasir's body, taste every tiny freckle and mole. He doesn't think he'll ever get tired of it. With another kiss, Agron feels Nasir stir under him, moaning a little and raising his arms further above his head. 

"Again, my prince?" Nasir mumbles, eyes closed but a coy grin half hidden in his pillow.

"Over and over," Agron agrees into Nasir's ear, nibbling on the lobe, "I do not think I will ever have my fill of you. I am addicted."

"You are insatiable." Slowly turning onto his back, Nasir shyly brushes his hair back from his cheeks. "You yet still hunger for me in the morning light? Even after duty has been done?"

"Yes," Agron teasingly runs his finger down Nasir's cheek, "for the beauty of your face and the pleasure of your company."

Nasir feels the blush spread across his cheeks, face heating up from the soft words and the endearing expression on Agron's. It feels as if the night has transformed them, no longer biting words and harsh glares, but a soft, warm feeling growing between them. He trails his hand along the soft spikes of Agron's hair, caressing the side of his face. Tentatively curling his fingers in the long leather cords around Agron's neck, Nasir pulls him down in to a soft kiss, raising his head from the pillow to meet him.

Agron sighs into it, letting his mouth linger lax and warm against Nasir's, allowing him lead. He doesn't want to scare Nasir away, wants him to feel safe enough to claim the parts of Agron he wants. They press easy and slow against one another, sharing breath and soft moans. Agron's tongue sliding along the Nasir's full bottom lip, he tastes him carefully, thoroughly. A slow pressure that increases as Nasir spreads his legs around Agron's hips, gets his knees up. He moans when Agron's cock drags across his own, a teasing slide between his still wet thighs.

“Fuck. Your sounds,” Agron groans, fingers sliding along Nasir's jaw until his thumb rubs on his plump bottom lip, pulling it down so Agron can lap at his front teeth in a teasingly little stroke, “Your scent. Your fucking skin. I just want to keep having you over and over again, never want to leave this bed.”

“Then don't,” Nasir whines, body suddenly rushing with heat, thighs tightening around Agron's ribs. He wants it again, doesn't even care that this will be the fifth time, needs to drown in Agron. 

Sliding his mouth away from Nasir's, Agron trails biting kisses along the column of his neck, fingers trailing to his wet hole. He's still dripping, having been filled over and over again last night. The very last time had only been a few hours ago, and Agron had come deep inside of Nasir, seed spilling down onto the sheets, Nasir had sobbed through his orgasm, body unable to give anything but harsh trembles. 

Agron's cock drags along the soft skin of Nasir's hip, leaking and slick, and he needs it now, can feel the way Nasir aches for it. Pressing one last fevered kiss to Nasir's mouth, Agron gently guides him over onto his stomach, caressing his palms down the smooth planes of Nasir's back. He kisses both of his shoulder blades, nibbles at the bottom of one as he grips his cock, lines up. His whole body covers Nasir's, holding him down against the mattress with his weight. 

Wiggling a little, Nasir slips his fingers down from where Agron holds his wrists to lace their fingers together, pulling their joined hands against his mouth. It helps smother his cry as Agron's cock sinks back into him, hole loose enough that it's an easy glide for Agron, hips nestled tight against Nasir's ass. He doesn't think he'll ever fully adjust to Agron's cock impaling him, speared through so full he feels like he's bursting with it. 

Giving a slow thrust, Agron trails sucking kisses down Nasir's shoulder, biting into the soft cusp of it where it slopes up into his arm. He wants to take his time this time, feel every twitch and cry from Nasir up into his own body; over and over again until there is no separation between them, commingled with sweat and come.

“Fuck the gods,” Agron growls into Nasir's ear, nuzzling against him until Nasir turns his head, slotting their lips together in a scalding kiss. 

Agron continues his slow movements, just beginning to grind his cock thick and hard against Nasir's prostate when the tent's doorway is suddenly tossed open and Duro comes charging inside. He doesn't linger, but sprints around the now cold fire pit, only pausing within a few feet of the bedroom.

“Agron!” He cries, nearly vibrating with excitement, “Guess what? Don-”

“Stop,” Agron growls, pulling his mouth roughly away from Nasir's to turn and glare out through the curtains at his brother, “Do you not know to call for permission before just barging into my tent?”

“What?” Duro asks, breathless and hurt. He's never heard Agron use that tone with him before.

Pressing himself up on one arm, Agron stays buried within Nasir, only turning to glare at Duro with glowing eyes through the sheer curtains. Nasir stays still under him, muffling his moan the pillows, barely breathing. He tenses under Agron's dictation, fearing the sudden change in mood.

“I am married now, Duro.” Agron's voice doesn't lose it's harshness, thighs flexing against Nasir's, “This is no longer our shared rooms like they when we were children.”

“I know but-” Duro makes an aborted gesture towards the back of the tent, a seething fury suddenly welling up inside of him as he watches Nasir turn his head, whiskey colored eyes glinting out from under Agron's broad chest. 

“But what? Is the village on fire? Do we suffer some sort of emergency? Do you need me now?” Agron pushes up onto his palm, body curved sharply. When Duro flounders, Agron continues. 

“No? Then see yourself from my sight until appropriate hour.”

Duro drops his head, turning briskly towards the door with reddened cheeks – stung by Agron's tone and easy dismissal. Nasir hasn't even been here a full moon's path and he has taken so completely over Agron's life that Duro now holds no place there. 

“Agron,” Nasir murmurs, turning his head to give him furrowed look.

Staring at each other, Agron wrestles with his guilt, wanting to go back a few moment ago when it was bliss and wet heat, lost in Nasir's body. Nasir looks so earnest though, so disappointed in Agron's handling of the situation, and when he turns his face back into the pillow, Agron knows he's defeated. Groaning, he pulls out of Nasir and snatches a random fur from the bed, wrapping it around himself and covering his quickly softening cock. 

“Duro wait,” Agron calls, slipping out from the curtained area. “What did you need?”

Pausing in the doorway, Duro keeps his body turned away from his brother, unwilling to let him see his leaking eyes. He doesn't like giving in, succumbing to emotion, but there is very little else he can do under the realization that thanks to his new little bride, Agron is lost. The rising sun is a bitter light, uncovering their new truth.

“I came to tell you Donar's hunting party has returned, and he would seek you out,” Duro stares out into the freshly wakening town, the sun cutting sharp and bright over his eyes. 

“I will greet him soon,” Agron nods solemnly, a new sort of dread growing in his stomach. Everything had happened so quickly, the Pythonissam people arriving and then the wedding, he had forgotten about the hunting party that had been gone for over a week. He had forgotten a lot.

Bitterly, Duro turns his head to the side, raising his voice. “Your royal consort, your father and people gather on the borders of our land. They aim to leave with full light.”

“What?” Nasir sits up, hair a mess down his back as he clasps the furs to his chest. He looks tiny in their huge bed and Agron wants to reach back, hold him, keep back the rising panic in his eyes.

“They've been there a while. I do not think they will wait for you,” Duro shrugs, letting the flap slip shut from the tent, blocking out the new dawn. 

Turning slowly, Agron watches as Nasir flounders for a minute, hands clenching and then spreading within the soft gray furs. He has this half perplexed, half shocked look on his face, cheeks growing redder and redder as tears well in his eyes. 

“Nasir,” Agron murmurs, instantly going to him, “Come on. Breathe.”

“I need to-I need to-” Nasir stammers, not even feeling it as Agron pulls him up, blankets and all, and onto his feet. 

He guides him down from the platform, easing him onto the long wooden table, making sure Nasir is steady before he fills a bowl with water. Wetting a rag, Agron gently washes Nasir's cheeks, wiping away the sweat and tears – evidence of last night and now this morning. Nasir doesn't fight him, staring straight ahead and taking shuddering breaths through his wet mouth, one hand loosely clasping the fabric to his chest. 

“Nasir, look at me,” Agron crouches down, holding Nasir's face between his palms, “They will wait for you. Spartacus won't let them leave without saying goodbye. They're your family. But we must get ready now and be presentable for my father.”

Slowly, Nasir raises his eyes up to meet Agron's. He looks so lost, young and broken, with clumped together, wet eyelashes and flushed cheeks. Agron moves forward completely on instinct, pressing his lips against Nasir's forehead, letting his lips linger.

“I need to get dressed and find my crown.” Nasir whispers, voice faint and dry. 

“I'll look for it.” Agron gently pats Nasir's cheek before turning away.

\- - - 

Mika leans against his twin, raven hair slipping together over matching shoulders. The sun is rising higher, the sweet smell of flowers and pine filling the air. It's nice here, calm, even with the Alptraum pacing before them. 

“Do you think he'll come?” Jem asks sleepily, nuzzling his nose against Mika's stubbled jaw. 

“After last night, I'll be surprised if he can stand,” Mika rolls his eyes, slipping his fingers into Jem's hair, massaging his head, “He'll be alright though, right? Here, with them? We've never been apart before.”

They turn to look at each other, foreheads resting as they cuddle closer. Though the sun is up, a chill still lingers in the air, blocked out by the thick blanket wrapped around the twins. Out of the corner of Jem's eye, he can see Kallistos walking up and down between the wagons, checking to make sure everything is packed up correctly.

“I think Nasir will have to be,” Jem sighs deeply, lacing their fingers together, “This is his life now. He is basically their queen. ”

“We could steal him away. We could find a way.” Mika lowers his head further to quiet his voice, just in case someone overhears, “We could do it. Swing back around, lure him out with magic.”

“Mika-” Jem starts, cut off by the sound of horse hooves on the ground.

Flanked by six other riders, the royal party makes its way across the field. Prince Agron rides in front, face grim as he easily guides the horse with his knees, one hand loosely holding a thin rein. Behind him, long red cloak spread out like some majestic wave, Nasir clings to Agron's waist with both hands, unveiled face pulled tight in a grimace. 

They stop before the caravan, Agron easily swinging down before lifting Nasir to the ground, steadying him with a gentle hand to his waist. They move together, stepping closer to the crowd before Nasir's eyes spot his brothers, instantly welling with tears. 

“Oh Nasir,” Mika whimpers, reaching his arms out but stops when Nasir instantly shakes his head, gaze darting to the side to Gerulf. He's got this strange expression on his face, half hidden by his beard, but it hints at danger – an ominous warning. 

“My brothers,” Gerulf booms, clapping Kallistos' hard on the back. “We are sorry to see you leave, but we must thank you for the gift of your son. Your presence here has been most rewarding.”

“My only hope is that he is in good hands,” Kallistos smiles, but it does not reach his dark eyes, “but I know that to be true.”

He reaches out a wrinkled hand to gently press it against Nasir's cheek, cupping his son's face. It may be the last time he ever sees Nasir, the last time he will be able to gaze upon that fiery expression. Kallistos cannot imagine no longer hearing Nasir's laughter, watching his eyes spark when he dances, his tiny jeweled son. It is a loss he doesn't think he'll ever recover from. 

“I will make sure of it. You and your people will always be welcome in our land,” Agron nods, smiling over at Nasir. He ducks his head in response, nodding once, before gazing up at his brothers again. 

“We wish you good fortune. Some of our men will escort you to our border,” Gerulf turns back to his own horse, gripping the reins, “Until we meet again.”

He makes to swing onto his steed, waving his hand at a few of his men already mounted. It's cruelly dismissive and Nasir's palm in Agron's grows clammy, trying to suppress the tears. Gerulf doesn't even allow him to say his goodbyes, to hug his brothers, kiss his father's cheek one last time. The guards walk their horses forward, intent on leading the Pythonissan people away, when Agron steps forward, clearing his throat loudly. 

“Father, I would have words with you before they leave. A matter of great importance,” Agron's voice is commanding, enough that Gerulf actually pauses. 

“Can this not wait until we get back?” Gerulf asks, eyebrows furrowing deeply. He is impressed at Agron's tone and the way he squares his shoulders though, Nasir's eyes darting up to his new husband in fear. Perhaps Agron will not be the disappointment that Gerulf suspected. 

“It will not take too long,” Agron turns back to Nasir, gently squeezing their fingers, “Say your goodbyes.” He whispers, covering it by straightening Nasir's crown. 

Nasir waits, half shocked, as Agron leads his father away, hides them half behind the horses and his people, before he moves towards his brothers. He lets them wrap him up in their arms, kiss his forehead, pet his hair, soak him in. Nasir feels like he's drowning, inhaling the sharp spices of their scent, feels their skin for the last time. 

“Nasir, we're so sorry,” Mika murmurs, sliding his fingers along Nasir's bare shoulder, “Are you going to be okay?”

“We're surprised you're even standing.” Jem cups Nasir's cheek, giving him a wicked smirk.

“Yes,” Nasir nods, shuddering breath, “Prince Agron treats me well. I will do what I can to survive here and win his favor.” 

“We saw the flowers,” Jem nudges Nasir lightly. 

It's done in teasing, but it still hurts. Nasir feels torn, ripped in half. How can he allow himself to be happy with Agron when it's because of him that Nasir's whole world is being ripped apart? Nasir should hate him, and yet there is something so magnetic about the prince, enough that Nasir wants to know more about him, unpeel the layers that hide the true Agron away – the one he caught glimpses of last night. He guess he'll have the time now that his people are leaving for the north.

“You will come through again though, right? Travel back to the coast?” Pietros lingers against Jem's side, fingers curled in his cloak. 

“Of course,” Mika pipes up for his twin, “Of course. This isn't goodbye. It's just see you later on.”

“You think we're going to miss out on seeing our nephew or niece?” Jem grins, tugging lightly on the edges of Nasir's hair. 

“If we get that far,” Nasir rolls his eyes, batting Jem's hands away from him. 

“If you can't, we'll figure something out. We'll come for you,” Mika vows softly, lowering his voice in case he's overheard. 

“We will await your return,” Nasir ducks his head, watching as Kallistos moves towards him. 

He leads his youngest a few steps away, laying dry and wrinkled lips against Nasir's temple, soaking in the last moments he may ever have with his son. They are optimistic that the Pythonissan people will return, but it is never set in stone. There is no telling if this will truly be the end of it all. Kallistos has never seen Ashur or Lido again, even when they returned to the lands where he lost them. 

“Will you ever find it in your heart to forgive me?” Kallistos asks, tucking Nasir's loose hair behind his ears. 

“I don't know,” Nasir answers honestly, the wound of being sold still raw in his chest, “but I will never not know you are my father, and love you for it.”

“Remember, Nasir, the sins of the father are not always the sins of the son,” Kallistos wraps his parchment hands around Nasir's, caressing his smooth knuckles, “He is a better man than his father.”

“Perhaps.” Nasir turns his head to catch sight of the mentioned prince. He's still trying to distract his father, but there is a tenseness around his shoulders that portrays it's not working. 

“You will be very important soon,” Kallistos murmurs, “and I hope you know that.”

“When I have his son?” Nasir hisses, a bitterness rising acidic in the back of his throat, “That's my duty, isn't it? That's what you sold me for, to be his mare.” 

Before Kallistos can continue though, Gerulf growls loudly, enough that is seems to nearly shake the very ground. He swings up onto his horse, a blur of colors and furs, supernatural speed for someone his size. He doesn't gift them with anymore common words, just shouts in his language and to the horse, forcing it into a sharp gallop. Half the Alptraum scramble to follow while the other half move hostile towards the Pythonissam, raising spears and swords. 

“You are my jewel.” Kallistos frantically presses a kiss to Nasir's forehead before turning away, disappearing between the swirls of fabric and wagon tops. 

It all happens so quickly. People run for their perches, calling out to each other as the guards force them backwards. The twins call to Nasir, ripping themselves away from Pietros to scramble up to the front of their wagon. They send up their customary green sparks of farewell, blowing kisses before they turn the horses towards the road. 

Nasir means to move towards them, reach out and at least touch their cloaks for the last time, but he's stopped as a hand firmly wraps around his bicep, hoisting him up into the air. He nearly screams until his back hits a large, warm chest, and Nasir feels Agron's lips against his ear. 

“I'm sorry, Nasir, but is not safe for them to linger. They must leave now.”

“But-” Nasir's chest feels raw, quaking deep into his bones as he fists the horse's mane, tears stinging sharp and vicious at his eyes. 

“They will return to you one day and they will be welcome,” Agron vows, hands gentle on Nasir's waist as he reaches for the reins, “You must protect them. You must be strong.”

Nasir nods helplessly, unable to form words as Agron guides the steed around, back towards the village. Nasir gets one last glance, the red flags wiping back and forth above his father's wagon, the gold above the twins, before they face the other way and it's blocked from his sight. Instead, he looks on towards the fur covered huts of his new kingdom, unable to imagine a time when the pain of losing his family will heal. 

\- - -

The city is awake, people stroking fires to life and the smell of breakfasts cooking filling the morning air, as Agron moves the horse back into the city. Some nod their head in respect, but most just stare, gaping at seeing the prince and his new consort out and about. They have only sees Nasir in the shadows, and now in daylight, they can take their fill. 

Keeping one arm firmly wrapped around Nasir's thin waist, Agron steadies him as they move, easing the horse down into a walk. Nasir has stopped crying, but his body shakes every few moments, trembles at keeping his sorrow at bay. Agron isn't sure how much longer he will last, head resting heavy on his chest, face turned towards the center. He hides behind his hair, crown digging in sharply into Agron's chest. Agron tries to navigate them quickly, but the crowd seems to grow with every step, gawking mouths and whispered phrases. Some women throw flowers before the horse, whispering prayers.

“My good people,” Agron bellows when they gather too thick to navigate though, “we will address you soon. Go about your tasks. See to the morning.”

“Hail Prince Agron! And hail Prince Nasir!” A man cries, and before Agron can stamp it down, the crowd begins to chant it. Agron raises his hand in response, but it only eggs them on. It's drowning, an overwhelming surge of sound, and it seems to grow with every moment.

Weaving through the crowd, they finally manage to reach their tent, nearly having run over a whole horde of shouting children in their wake. They have grown bolder as time has gone on, reaching for Nasir and Agron, petting them where they can reach and latching onto their clothes. Agron has never seen a crowd like this, half awed and reckless. He tries to shoo them back, but is to no avail.

Pushing his way to the entrance of his tent, Agron swings down before pulling Nasir down into his arms. He doesn't have the strength to stand, face shell shocked and cowering away from the people who have followed them. They don't know any better, and they reach to touch Nasir's hair, pet his colored clothing. Growling, Agron swings Nasir up into his arms, cradling him close against his chest as shoves into the tent. 

“What happened? Is he okay?” Pietros, who must have beaten them back, rushes forward from the shadows. Agron sidesteps him, moving Nasir towards their bed instead. 

“Get some water and a rag.” Agron gently lays Nasir down among the furs, easing his crown from his head. “Nasir, breathe. You are safe now. They will not enter here without my permission.”

Nasir's eyes blink unseeing at the ceiling, eyelashes clumped together with tears. His hand is half raised by his face, fingers curled loosely. Around him, the flowers from last night begin to wilt, dropping curling brown petals like confetti onto the bed. They catch in his hair, along his bare chest, tiny relics of joy that fade as Nasir's own happiness does. He doesn't even react when Agron wets the rag, wiping it quickly over his cheeks and forehead, brushing his hair back.

“What happened? Why did they have to leave like that?” Pietros murmurs, hovering behind Agron. 

“My father-” Agron starts, hesitating over his next words, “My father wanted your people out of our land. He did not give me reason why, but made threat. I guess in his mind, he got what he wanted from them.”

“And in your mind?” Pietros snaps, squaring his feet in case Agron should turn his wrath back on him. Instead though, Agron gently trails his fingers down Nasir's cheek, wiping away a stray tear with his knuckles. 

“I did not gain anything,” Agron murmurs, “because he is not mine to own.”

Pietros wants to say more, wants to pry further into Agron's intentions, but he begins speaking before Pietros gets the chance. 

“Nasir. You must come back to me,” Agron murmurs, keeping up his gentle caress on Nasir's face, “We do not have time. Later, my little prince, you can have the time to mourn, but we must get ready. There is much to go over and my father will want us to be in court soon.”

It takes a few moments, but Nasir's eyes slide from the the ceiling, blinking slowing down until he focuses on Agron's face. It's not an instant recognition, but eventually he gains that light, the acknowledgment of his surroundings and the people hovering over him. He doesn't say anything, but the flowers stop dropping around him. 

Agron guides Nasir up into a sitting position next, brushing his hair back. He presses a single chaste kiss to the center of Nasir's forehead, feeling him softly exhale against Agron's throat. Standing, he moves to the table and lets Nasir be fussed over by Pietros instead, giving him some breathing room. He can't hear their conversation, but the tone is dismissal and reassuring. 

“Pietros, would you go find Spartacus and let him know we are going to take morning meal here? And that we will be joining him soon?” Agron slices diligently through a few figs, preparing a plate for Nasir. 

“Of course,” Pietros bobs his way through a bow, gracefully sprinting out the door. 

When the flap is closed and the newly married couple are once again left in semi-darkness, Agron moves back towards his husband. Nasir has risen from the bed and began to strip off his clothes, moving towards three large trunks along the wall. They are all engraved with the same symbol, a triangle with an swirl through it – matching Nasir's tattoo. 

Tossing the clothes to the side, Nasir reaches for the discarded rag on the bed, quickly dragging it down his face and neck. He doesn't seem fazed by his nudity, but Agron is. He can't seem to take his eyes off the slow slope of Nasir's back, the curving of his thighs. Agron feels guilty at the fact that his cock twitches as Nasir bends over, easily flipping the complicated trunk lock open. 

“I would dress,” Nasir begins, voice soft but growing strength, “but I do not know what I dress for.”

“We are going to court.” Agron supplies, moving further towards Nasir, balancing his plate on his hand. “A kind of meeting where we are forced to sit and listen to the frivolous shit people bring before my father. What you had on before is fine.”

“It's an act of-” Nasir pauses, awkwardly waving his hand, “of mourning? Kind of? It's a transition, releasing their magic in goodbye. I don't really know how to explain it.”

“Oh,” Agron nods, shrugging, “Whatever your people do is fine. Though, I must admit, I will miss your veil.”

“You would have me cover my face?” Nasir flinches, half turning towards Agron. 

“I only meant it suited you,” Agron's grin slowly drops at Nasir's severe tone, “It was mysterious and made you even more exotic.”

“It's not meant to be some fetisized thing for you to find sexy,” Nasir quips, pulling his hair back from his face, “It is a symbol of purity, of unbound magic, of my freedom. It is the last line between what my people keep sacred and what you are privy to see.”

They stare at each other, gaze calculating. Agron wants to understand, wants to figure out the certain things that make Nasir the way he is. He imagines they will have time later, to explore and find understanding. That time is just not right now. 

“I didn't mean to insult you,” Agron bows his head in surrender.

“It is fine. I do not expect you to understand,” Nasir turns back to the trunk, grumbling something under his breath. 

“I do want to though.” Stepping forward, Agron tries for welcoming, for warm. “I want to understand, but you have to stop thinking about it as you versus me. We are a we now. We are married, and I know that it wasn't really our choice but we need to make the best of it.”

Pausing, Nasir's shoulders slump in realization, fiddling with a few interlaced necklaces before slipping them all over his head. They fall down his chest in a waterfall of gold, clinking together softly and highlighting his tan skin. 

“Of course. I'm sorry.” Nasir murmurs, reaching for bracelets next. 

“I am too. So court?” Agron smiles, pulling a piece of bread from the plate and eating it. It's a distraction for the heat pooling in Agron's stomach as Nasir rustles through the trunk again, bending at the waist. Even if they never agree on social issues, they will always agree on the sex. 

“A more formal affair?” Nasir peaks over his shoulder at Agron, flushing at the hunger he finds there. 

“Of sorts.” Shrugging, Agron leans over Nasir to peer into the trunk, pointing down among the fabric, “Wear the green one. The color suits you.”

“Why are you so nice to me?” Nasir asks bluntly, reaching in to grab the green harem pants. They aren't sheer, but a soft, shimmering fabric that will cling against him. 

“Would you have me be cruel?” Agron pops a piece of fruit into his mouth, moving back to lounge against the bed. If Nasir insists on changing, he might as well enjoy the show. 

“No, but you aim as if to treat me as an equal. I don't understand it. You are a crown prince, a high prince at that.” Nasir pulls out the matching robe, slipping it up his arms. It's long in the sleeves, body handing down below his waist, a thin sheer material that hints gold glitter along the trim. He doesn't tie it shut, but leaves his torso bare, slipping a waist chain around himself. 

“You are a crown prince as well now,” Agron grins, motioning with his hand when Nasir is done, inviting him to eat, “I did give you a crown, after all.”

“It is not the same.”

Sinking down, Nasir curls up across from Agron, tentatively pulling a piece of fruit from the tray, honey dripping over his fingers. Agron makes no move to protest, so Nasir figures it is meant to share. 

“Neither of us chose this life,” Agron leans back on one elbow, green eyes gleaming, “Why should I punish you for it? You are my husband, from now until one of us draws our last breath. Torturing you is not going to make my life or yours better.”

“I expected the spell from last night to wear off,” Nasir murmurs, boldly reaching out to trace a bite mark on Agron's shoulder, the flesh an angry purple, “and yet you seem to be the same god from last night.”

Head thrown back, Agron lets out a delighted laugh, fingers curling over Nasir's own in a gentle squeeze. He raises Nasir's hand to his mouth after, gently kissing his knuckles. 

“You believe me to be a god but I am certain you are made from the very stars themselves.”

“Are you trying to flatter me?” Nasir asks, pulling a fig to his lips, lapping at the honey that oozes against the green flesh. It's perfectly seductive, coy and innocent, but the strip of Nasir's hipbone and the way he spreads his legs is not. 

“Is it working?” Agron leans forward, lapping gently at the corner of the fruit, crowding into Nasir's space. He can still feel the way Nasir gripped his cock last night, tight and wet, a made-for-Agron vice.

With a dazzling grin, Nasir shakes his head, popping the fig into his mouth. He moves back from Agron, flopping onto his side and against the soft furs. Collapsing as he giggles, Nasir pushes his foot against Agron's chest when he tries to follow him. 

Agron growls his frustration, playfully poking Nasir's side, tickling him just a little before sprawling out on his side of the bed again. It's good to see Nasir becoming mirthful again, that teasing little minx that had ignited Agron last night. 

“Well, since you want to play that way, I might as well give you the full run through.” Agron pulls a piece of cheese off the plate, setting it onto the clean part of a blanket. 

“This is my father. He sits in the middle, I am on the right and Duro sits on the left.” Agron continues, placing small pieces of bread on either side of the cheese. “You, being high consort to the future king will sit on my right side. You now outrank both Duro and Tove, so he will move over and be one step lower. Spartacus, my adviser and bodyguard will stand between us and behind. If things get confusing, he can explain things to you.”

Agron sets more food down, creating a small diagram. 

“Naevia will be your acting bodyguard, as well as Mira. One of them must accompany you at all times unless you are here or in a private audience. It's kind of up to you. They just got back from a pretty long hunting party though, and will start tomorrow.”

“Are people going to flock to me again like they did this morning?” Nasir asks, shyly spreading his hands down his legs. “I don't understand their fascination.”

Sitting up, Agron cautiously moves towards Nasir, giving him time to pull away. He doesn't though, and Agron cups his face between his large palms, raising his eyes up to meet his own. They stare at each other for a minute, and Agron gets a sudden wave of protectiveness, a need to keep Nasir safe and comfortable at all times. 

“You are their new, soon-to-be queen – of sorts – but you are rare. They've never seen anyone like you, no one as beautiful or that has the magic you do. They're amazed and maybe a little afraid of you.” 

“I feel like I'm some freak they're gawking at a market,” Nasir mutters, trying to pull away but Agron keeps him there, leaning forward to gently kiss Nasir's now pouting mouth. 

“They stare because they do not know, and what they do not know is strange. But they will come to know you and remember your position now. It will take time.”

“We should go.” Nasir is successful at pulling away this time, moving to slip from the bed. He finds his shoes under a fallen blanket in the corner, and begins to tie the sandals on, slipping the laces around his ankles. 

“I will do whatever I can to make you happy and safe here, Nasir, but you have to be a little forgiving as well. My people, and myself to some degree, have to get used to you, just like you and Pietros have to get used to us. It will take time.”

Agron offers Nasir's crown to him, placing his own upon his head. He looks so much taller with it on, more regal and less like the laughing man from before, full of mischief and light. 

“I know.” Nasir takes the metal, placing it upon his head once more, before leaning up on his toes to kiss Agron's down turned face. “I will try.”

“That's all I ask.” Agron stoops to line their mouths up for another chaste press before he slips his fingers into Nasir's, leading him towards the opening of the tent and their waiting people. 

\- - - 

There is a crowd waiting for them when they make it to the royal chamber tent. A few armed men keep them back, Spartacus over seeing them. When he spots the royal couple, he moves forward, warming clapping Agron on the shoulder, smiling at Nasir. 

“Your father has been expecting you. Grima is talking to him now,” Spartacus murmurs and Agron rolls his eyes. 

“Fucking shit. Now what does he want?” Slipping his hand from Nasir's, he rubs his beard, a slow shake to his head. 

“Who is Grima?” Nasir asks, eyes scanning the growing crowd. He wonders if half of them have issues to bring before them or if half are here to gawk. The sides of the tent have been rolled up to allow the daylight in, so they would have a clear view of it all. 

“A distant cousin on my mother's side,” Agron grumbles, mouth set in a growl, “Has been after her titled rights for a while.”

“Where is-” Nasir begins but Spartacus cuts him off. 

“We must go in. Agron, do you know this part?” 

“Yeah, I've got it.” 

Holding out his forearm, Agron motions for Nasir to lay his hand over his. Walking them forward, he pauses at the entrance to the tent, waiting for the thin curtains to be pulled back. He flashes Nasir a reassuring smile, encouraging and soft, just in time for a voice to boom before them. 

“Presenting his royal highness, Prince Agron and his royal consort, Prince Nasir.”

It's a fucking blur. Nasir can feel his feet hitting the earth, but it's all centered down to Agron's skin on his and the eyes that seem to glare around him, supernatural and intense. There are so many people lining the tent, dressed mostly in earth tones, and Nasir knows he sticks out. From the clinking of his jewelry to his dark lined eyes, to his long black hair, slightly curling around his ribs. 

The front is set up in a tiered platform. The center is Gerulf's throne, the wolf from before. To his right are two chairs, the one closer to him more elaborate and carved with wolves along the bottom. The one, and Nasir assumes from Agron's diagram is his, is gold with encrusted diamonds, a moon hanging from thin metal cord above it. Duro sits a step down to the left and across the platform, diagonal from Nasir's chair, Tove sprawls in his own. He flashes a grin at the pair, wiggling his ears – a stark contrast to Duro's scowling glare. 

Agron leads Nasir to his seat first, squeezing his fingers lightly before sitting down in his own, motioning to someone behind him for a cup of wine. It is with great relief that Pietros steps out, dressed similarly to Nasir only in blue. He lingers between the pair, sharing the space with Spartacus. 

“I feared you had gotten caught up in your bed once more,” Gerulf comments, a ripple of laughter breaking out through the crowd. 

“No Father,” Agron hides his grimace well, laying his hand over Nasir's on his arm rest, “but hour of last night was late, and I fear we slept late into morning and were caught off guard by guests' sudden departure.”

“Goodbyes are not something we should linger on, my son,” Gerulf's eyes narrow, but his voice does not lose it's mirth. “Besides, I will forgive all tardiness if you are busy making me a grandchild. Nasir, you look fertile enough. It should not take you long, no?”

Nasir swallows hard, feeling Agron's fingers flex against his, but if it's for support or warning – he doesn't know. 

“Of course. I am sure we will not have to wait, those these things take time.” Nasir chokes out, flashing the king a weak smile. His magic crackles at the surface, longing to spark at his unease.

“You are doing your duty though, right?” Gerulf turns in his chair, momentarily ignoring the proceedings of the court to question the pair. 

“My duty, your highness?” Nasir raises an eyebrow, seeing Pietros bristle out of the corner of his eye. 

“Certainly you grow with child like any common whore,” Gerulf explains, “Are you doing your duty as Agron's?”

“Father,” Agron bites out, a growl curling along his lip. 

“I was told you were experienced in these sorts of things,” Gerulf shrugs, shaking his head as he turns towards the crowd, “What can you really expect from traveling witches? Perhaps I should have asked for a demonstration before I traded goods.” The crowd answers in laughter. 

“If you are asking me if I let your son spill inside-” Nasir begins, but Agron grips his hand tightly, shaking his head.

“Let you?” Gerulf hisses, eyebrows raising dramatically. 

“It is a decision we make-” Nasir tries to soothe the situation, feeling Agron tensity just increasing. It's too late though as Gerulf stands, moving across the platform to Nasir. He brackets him into his chair, fingers tight on the armrests. 

“Let's get one thing straight,” Gerulf growls, breath hot and moist on Nasir's face, “You do not let my son do anything. You know your place and what Agron or I say, you do. No question. If you have trouble learning this, then there are ways other than words that I can teach you with.”

“Father, that is unnecessary. He does not-” Agron is half out of his chair, moving towards them. 

“Sit down.” 

Gerulf's command harsh, an order that has Agron bristling, sinking slower than necessary into his seat. It's a warning, but one that will come with pain if provoked again. 

“Now, Grima, make your case.” Gerulf motions, and just like that, everyone goes back to normal. People whisper and yawn, acting as if the exchange is of the everyday. 

Nasir does not know what to make of it, but he feel Agron's hand trembling in his own, rage barely contained. He does not know what will happen if Agron loses control, and so with baited breath, Nasir slowly curls a ribbon of light around their fingers, weaving it in and out before a tiny gold flame dances across Nasir's wedding ring. Agron notices it instantly, and raises his eyes to meet Nasir's, the green slowly dimming from a glow to a small sheen. 

It is not uncommon for Nasir's people to be able to speak without words when bonded, a kind of mental link, so Nasir tries for it, seeing if it will work. 

_”Relax, my king. I was wrong to provoke him, especially in this setting.”_

Agron's eyes widen, ignoring the proceedings around him just long enough to reply. It's weak at first, but grows strength in Nasir's mind. 

_”Is this part of your magic or am I imagining this?”_

Nasir grins, and the light around their joint hands grows. 

_”It is our magic, bonded magic. We shall discuss later.”_

His nod is hesitant, but there is a pleased little smirk to his mouth as Agron turns back to the man currently talking to his father. He's shorter, with broad shoulders and the same reddish brown hair that Agron has, dressed elaborately in a silver sash with tiny tassels on the end. 

“My king, we do not know when she will return. I am simply asking to hold her place on the royal council and have rights to my family's lands.” Grima's voice is scratchy and deep, like the sound of someone breathing in too much fire smoke. 

“She is returning though,” Duro suddenly pipes up, slamming his foot down onto the platform, “and we have denied your request numerous times. You are foolish if you think we are going to honor it now, especially in light of my brother's marriage.”

“He is a foreigner though!” Grima gasps, shaking his head, “He does not belong-”

Nasir feels Spartacus draw close to him, whispering into his ear. 

“Grima is distant cousins with Isolde,” Spartacus murmurs, “Agron and Duro's mother. She was won in battle a number of years ago to Gerulf, but it was only after their wedding night that she could got her powers. She has not been seen in about ten years. She went on a hunting trip with Agron and only he returned.”

“What do you mean only he returned?” Nasir whispers, turning his head in case Agron over hears. 

“He won't talk about it. He was only seventeen, a pup really,” Spartacus's mouth pulls deeply into a frown, “but he came back unconscious, tied to the saddle of his horse, a huge scratch mark down his back. He didn't talk for a whole month, would only let Duro get close to him.”

“What happened?” Nasir tunes out the conversation behind him, taking in Spartacus' dark gaze.

“I don't know. There are rumors, whispers, of what might have happened to them. Them going moon crazy, falling into wolf form and not being able to come back. Some say Isolde has found her true pack and sent Agron back for his brother.”

“But he never took Duro?” Nasir asks, raising his eyebrows. “And he never went out to look for her?”

“No.” 

Spartacus shakes his head, looking over at the younger prince. Duro is nibbling on his thumb nail, crown crooked among his curls. He looks young, innocent compared to the hard press of Agron's scowl. 

“I would see our people taken care of. Those lands are fertile. They are meant to be used.” Grima argues, waving his hands in frustration.

“And they will be once the queen returns.” Duro snaps, shaking his head. “Do not think that you have right just because you share some distant dead relative with us. You are not taking her place, you pathetic shit.”

“Hold your tongue you-” Grima is shouting and Agron interrupts him, voice deep in a growl. 

“My mother's rights will be taken over by Nasir in light of his new position as Keeper of the Moon. Regardless of your opinion on the matter. Her lands, like my brother has clearly explained to you, will stay for her return.”

“Your highness, I understand your desire to place such high ranking position upon your newly bonded but I must-” Grima starts, only to be cut off as Agron lets out a large growl. 

“Leave my sight. I have decided and it shall be done.” Agron stands and Gerulf actually raises his eyebrows, a proud little gleam in his eyes. He waves his hand, bored of the argument, allowing his son to take over the proceedings.

“Yes, your majesty.” Grima bows low, a sneer gracing his features just as he turns. 

Agron ignores it in favor of sitting back down, nodding solemnly at Duro. They share a look, a type of respected acknowledgment and Duro's mouth tweaks just a little, a tiny grin forming on it. It's good to have the old Agron back, if only to see that angry wolf sliding under Agron's skin. 

“Send the next person in,” Gerulf waves, nodding at Agron to sit back down. 

It goes on like this for hours, people coming in to complain, ask for things, offer gifts to the new couple that they hadn't last night. It blurs together, one after another, until Nasir is motioning for more wine and entertaining himself by dancing sparks between Agron and his fingers. He swears he could fall asleep if it weren't for Spartacus murmuring to him. 

Finally, the sun lingers high above the tent and Gerulf calls for midday meal. The crowd disperses, trailing off in little clumps that talk and laugh together. The whole place seems lighter, a gust of summer air wafting through the tent, allowing Nasir to take a deep breath for the first time in what feels like ages. His heart is still heavy with grief, but he can put it aside, forget for just a moment as Agron stands next to him stretching. 

“Are you hungry?” He asks, lazily scratching at his stomach under the straps of his armor. 

“Could we maybe go for a walk?” Nasir extending his legs out before him, rolling his ankles a bit to get feeling back in his toes. He turns to look at Pietros, see if he wishes to accompany them, but he has moved away, deep in conversation with another man. He's tall, dark skinned, with an odd sort of soft yet sour expression on his face when Pietros bursts into laughter.

“We can do that. I wanted to introduce you to some people anyways.” Agron holds out his hand to Nasir, easily guiding him up to his feet. 

“Who is that?” Pointing over his shoulder, Nasir uses the opportunity to peek out again. Pietros has his hand on the man's chest, laugh hidden behind his veil. 

“Oh, that's Barca,” Agron twists a strand of Nasir's hair around his finger, teasing the curl across his knuckles. 

“Grumpy over there?” Tove suddenly appears next to the pair, rocking on his heels as he crosses his arms over his chest, “He's supposed to be my guard but ever since I bested him in that wrestling match, he just hangs out instead of defends me. I'm pretty sure he'd clap the back of the guy who got a one up.”

“Maybe we'll give him to Pietros then.” Agron doesn't miss the way Nasir stares at them, a scowl turning down his full mouth. He cringes when Pietros laughs again, ignoring Agron's attempts at pulling him from his glare.

“No one gives a shit about me anymore,” Tove shrugs, “Might as well. I'm just the trusty cousin, the better looking one but still just the cousin.”

“You're third in line,” Agron rolls his eyes, “And someone would have to murder Duro and myself, plus my father for you to be king. I think you're safe, pup.”

“What about your little dove here?” Tove asks, poking Nasir's shoulder playfully. It spooks him out of his stupor, turning his head to stare up at the two. 

“What? I'm sorry.” Nasir glances between the two men, blushing lightly. “Who are we killing?”

“No one. Let's get out of this tent and out into the sun, yeah? I'm sick of being a prince right now.” Agron moves towards the opening, nodding politely to random people that still linger. In all reality, Agron would like nothing more than to lead Nasir back to their tent for a much needed nap, possibly interlaced with a few wet kisses and losing of clothes.

“Is this a personal trip or do you mind my company?” Tove asks, his charming grin wiggling his ears. 

“I just want to be away from the king,” Nasir mutters, brushing his hair back as he follows Agron, “You can walk with us. I don't mind.”

“Well, if the royal highness doesn't mind, I will be happy to.” Tove bows crookedly, waving his hand in a circle towards the moving princes.

The sunshine instantly makes Nasir feel better, stretching his arms above his head as the rays warm him, bring more feeling back to the tips of his fingers. He stoops to slip his shoes off, using Tove as a brace, and walking barefoot through the grass. Connecting to nature this way, even if it's foreign land, has always helped center Nasir down, calm him. He can feel the grass wiggling against his toes, curling up towards him, sensing him.

“This place is very old,” Nasir murmurs, turning to look up at Agron, “But it wasn't always your land, was it?”

“How do you know that?” Tove asks, staggering closer before moving away, a swagger to his step as women pass by him, wiggling their fingers. He grimaces, turning back to share a look with Agron that makes the higher prince laugh. 

“The grass told me.” Nasir points to the way it tickles against his toes, waving without the breeze. 

_”Show him.”_ Agron murmurs, voice faint in Nasir's mind.

Shrugging, Nasir bends to pick a wild bud from the ground. He holds Tove's large hand in his own for a moment, letting the pink flower bloom, curling petals that dance in the summer breeze. Tove's mouth hangs open in awe, unsure of what to do when Nasir pulls away. 

“How the hell did you do that?” Tove picks the flower up by it's stem, twisting it around.

“I have magic,” Nasir grins, pleased with himself, “More than you know. That is only one of the things I can do.”

“I can only imagine.” Tove's voice is faint, still inspecting the petals with a hesitant finger.

“Our people have been here for hundreds of years, won in a war against shapeshifters from the North. We stay for the summer and then move to our castle for winter. I think you will like it there, lots of gardens though they bloom early, weather permitting.” Agron explains, steering the conversation back. He motions towards the thick woods to the east, as if Nasir could see the stone-helm from here.

“You migrate? Like birds?” Teasing, Nasir nudges Agron with his shoulder, bouncing lightly off his bicep. 

“Wolves are animals,” Tove laughs, accent thickening as he cocks his head, “Didn't your prince also tell you that we howl at the moon? Hunt for deer in the woods?”

“I howl at many things, but you know that.” Agron growls, wrapping an arm around Nasir, drawing him closely to his side. Pecking the top of his head, Agron ghosts his fingers down Nasir's side, tickling him. 

“Agron!” Nasir giggles loudly, trying to pull away. It's too no avail though as Agron pulls him closer, nearly lifting him from the ground as he hugs him. People stare at them, whispering behind their hands. It's odd for Agron to act this way, even when he was younger. He has always been affectionate with Duro and Tove, to some degree, but never like this – never this tender. 

“I do love the sound of your laughter,” Agron whispers into Nasir's ear, tenderly kissing his neck. 

“And I, yours.” Nasir replies, raising up on his toes to kiss Agron's stubble-rough jaw. 

He's just about to slip his arms truly around Agron's neck when a scream pierces the air. People startle, scurrying away from the noise. A woman is running through the crowd of people as well as she can, clutching a blanketed bundle to her chest. Tears stream down her thin cheeks, shouting something in Agron's native tongue, words harsh and thick in her throat. She trips over her skirts when she draws near, and would fall if it weren't for Tove's quick reaction, easing her down onto her knees. 

“Prince Nasir! Prince Nasir!” She keeps repeating, panting breath chopping her words in half. 

With a growl, Agron pulls Nasir roughly behind him, barking out sharp words at the woman and reaching for his sword. On his knees, Tove replies only to have the woman wail louder, speech slurring around her hiccuped sobs. Nasir peers out at the woman from Agron's arm, fingers tight on Agron's bicep. The woman replies to his words, lifting the bundle towards Agron with a sharp cry. 

“What is she saying?” Nasir hisses, leaning further out to take in the woman. She does not look dangerous, but desperate and tired.

“Her child is sick,” Tove answers, translating the woman's frantic words. 滴e has been like this for days and our medic can do nothing else for him. He is going to die.

“We can do nothing for her.” Agron barks, shaking his head. 鉄end her back to the medic.

“He will die! My first son,” the woman begs in broken common tongue. “Please, Prince Nasir, please.”

Stepping out from behind Agron, Nasir moves forward, ignoring Agron's hissed warning. Instead, he lowers himself down onto his own knees, reaching out with both arms to gently take the baby from her. The child is still, eyes rimmed in dark. He is breathing, but shallowly. Long wet eyelashes stick to his thick cheeks, mouth swollen and puckered. 

“Please,” the woman murmurs, patting the blankets across her son's chest, “My baby.”

Nasir has not healed anyone to this extent before, not alone at least. He has no idea what could be ailing the baby, but he can tell that he is on the brink of death, skin nearly a pale gray. The woman looks at him with desperate eyes, huge and blue, and Nasir knows he will try. Even if he never truly feels part of these people, he can't deny his duty as their makeshift queen.

Laying his hand on the baby's bare chest, Nasir urges his magic forward, curling warmth from his fingertips into the cool skin. Knitting together and healing the darkness that dwells in the baby's lungs, freeing him of the pain and infection. It draws all of his energy, robbing Nasir of breath as he pushes harder, exerts himself more than he ever has, eyes falling shut as he begins to glow a golden bronze.

Behind him, Agron watches in awe as Nasir begins to change. There is that electricity in the air again, crackling under the surface, as Nasir's skin begins to run with golden vines, gleaming bright and brighter, even in the summer sun. 

Agron can't get the image out of his mind, Nasir holding the child, curling it towards his chest. It's not even his child, Agron doesn't recognize the woman, but the act of it is so maternal that it makes Agron ache. He doesn't understand this new passion he has, this longing need to keep Nasir next to him, to start something new. He's just a boy, but he's Agrons and that's more than enough. 

Suddenly, a new cry pierces the air and the baby begins to wiggling in Nasir's arms, grasping up at the bright blue sky. It's a total transformation, no longer discolored and fading, instead his cheeks grow ruddy and his blue eyes stare around, focusing on Nasir with a loud gurgle, reaching up to gently tap Nasir's cheek. 

“Holy fuck,” Tove whispers next to him, turning wide eyes up to stare at Agron. “Holy fucking fuck.”

“Thank you.” The woman is crying again, clutching her baby to her chest.

With a faint grin, Nasir turns back to look at Agron, reaching for his hand, but before their fingers can meet, he wavers. Eyes fluttering again, Nasir falls to the side, collapsing against the grass. Agron is there instantly, gently holding his face in one hand as he grips the back of Nasir's neck. The pulse thrumming against his palm is reassuring, but not enough.

“Nasir! Nasir, can you hear me?” Agron barks an order for Tove to go get water, but Nasir weakly waves his hand, shaking his head. 

“I'm alright, my king.” He mutters faintly, fingers curling reassuringly around Agron's. “Just overexerted myself. Having you here will help bring me back.”

“You need to rest. I'm taking you back to the tent.” Agron goes to pick Nasir up, but he protests again, voice gaining strength. 

“No, I need to stay out here. Your people want to see me. I am their royal consort. I need to let them know I am here for them, that I am a strong and able partner to their beloved prince.”

Touching Agron's cheek, Nasir stares at him beseechingly, whispering in his mind. 

_”I can not fail them. Not after what just happened with your father.”_

Studying him for a long moment, Agron finally shakes his head. A surge of respect and overwhelming affection surges through Agron, and he stoops further to tenderly kiss Nasir's mouth. He's overly warm – a side effect of using so much of his powers – but he kisses back instantly, mouth falling open under Agron's gentle caress. 

“Fine, but no more healing people until you are to full strength and you must eat something more than scrap pieces of bread and fruit.” Agron commands, hoisting Nasir up into a standing position, letting him lean on Agron's thick side for support. 

“Who am I to deny a command from my king?” Nasir smiles up at Agron, accepting the soft kiss to his forehead and his reply. 

“Or the plea from a loving husband.”

\- - - 

Tapping his pipe on the side of a nearby tree, Duro packs it again with fresh leaves and lights it with a stone. The smoke is thick and sweet, filling his lungs and calming his racing heart. Having watched Nasir and Agron interacting all day, Duro can't help but feel bitter. Yes, he is glad that the boy healed some woman's child, but it did not help sooth Duro's suspicion of him. He's fit in too well, weaseled his way into Agron's life and bed and what else?

Duro moodily kicks at the packed dirt under his feet, peeking out from the folds of the tent he's hiding behind to watch as Agron leads Nasir forward, introducing him to Mira and Naevia who have appeared together. There is laughter, and Duro's stomach twists when Agron tilts Nasir's mouth open, kissing him gently. 

Drawing another drag of his pipe, he nearly jumps out of his skin when someone suddenly taps him on the shoulder. 

“Your highness,” Auctus' tone is only highlighted by his grim expression. 

“Fuck! Auctus! What do you want?” Duro snaps, turning away from him to moodily stare out at Agron again. He's got his arm around Nasir's shoulders, playing with a strand of his hair and Duro wants to be sick. 

“You need to stop sneaking off from me. I'm supposed to protect you,” Auctus replies, using Duro's chest plate to yank him back around. 

“Go fucking watch someone else. I don't need you here.” Duro waves his hand in Auctus' face. 

“You shouldn't be smoking either. You know your father hates that.” Auctus moves to grab the pipe from Duro's fingers, but he pulls away. 

“You've grown bold for an over sized babysitter,” Duro narrows his eyes, “Listen to your prince.”

“I haven't listened to any command you have given me since I started this position. I am only required to follow your father's and Agron's,” Auctus sighs, shaking his head, “You know that.”

“Fuck off.”

Turning back around, Duro takes a slow drag of pipe, breathing the smoke back towards Auctus on purpose. His attention is drawn away again though as Nasir laughs and a shower of sparks lingers in the air, flashing rainbow colors. 

Auctus takes in the easy way Duro is losing to his rage, face flushed and hands shaking. There is a splatter of freckles down Duro's back, a beauty mark on his lower back. Auctus has often wondered what the prince's skin would taste like. Everyone seems to go after Agron, try to figure him out, but Auctus knows Agron. He's rage. He's fury and death and the god of war himself. Duro though, Duro gets that sneaky look in his eyes sometimes, that kind of mischief that could either ruin or build a life. 

“I was unaware how good you look in green,” Auctus leans around Duro to pluck the pipe from his fingers. 

“What are you talking about?” Duro looks over his shoulder, only to pause with how close Auctus is against his back, lips curling slightly open to let out the smoke. 

“I know what games you and your brother play,” Auctus taunts, “the type your father would kill you if he found out.”

“You know nothing.” Duro hisses, trapped between Auctus' thick chest and the side of the tent. 

“I've been sworn to protect you for ten years now, Duro,” Auctus slides the side of his hand along Duro's rough jaw, smirking just a little, just enough to tease. “I know everything about you. What you sound like when you're happy, angry, lonely. The way your voice rises and muffles behind Agron's hand when the two of you fuck.”

“Are you threatening me?” Duro asks, voice surprisingly vicious for someone who is trembling. “You may not think I can kill you but Agron-” 

“No,” Auctus tilts Duro's chin up, capturing his gaze, “but I think you must face the facts that Nasir has captured something in Agron that you can't have. There are parts of him that he will never give you, and has been saving for someone like Nasir. You need to move on from that.”

“You know nothing. He is my brother, my other half. There is nothing that can come between us,” Duro's voice shakes as he moves to push Auctus away. Instead, he laces his fingers around Duro's wrist, dropping the pipe. 

“He already has.” Auctus sighs, “You saw it last night. The moment that Nasir stepped into that tent, Agron was his captured.”

“You know nothing. You lie!” Duro hisses, feeling the quaking doubt begin to swell in his chest. 

“Have I not lost Barca to Pietros? I know better than anyone else.” Auctus reassures, gripping Duro's chin in one hand and turning his head to watch Agron and Nasir again. 

Nasir has flowers blooming in his long hair, swept down his back as Agron holds his face tenderly, kissing him in a way that he has never kissed Duro – has never really kissed anyone. Nasir's arms barely span Agron's wide chest, fingertips teasing along his spine. And when did they do this? When did they fall in love? It's been a fucking day. When he pulls back, Agron nuzzles his nose against Nasir's and he grins, something soft and gentle. 

“I'm sorry, your highness,” Auctus begins only to be cut off as Duro whips his head back around, kissing him hard. 

Duro's mouth tastes like ash and bitter rage, yanking his wrists away to tug their way through Auctus' hair. Caught off guard, Auctus nearly melts under the assault, having imagined this numerous times. Duro's mouth is soft, full, and his nose ring drags cold against Auctus' cheek. Yet, there is an acridness that clings to Duro's kiss, not really meaning it. He doesn't want Auctus. He wants a distraction. 

“Duro,” Auctus has to be gentle but he does push Duro away, shaking his head as he gasps in air. 

“Fuck me,” Duro whines, sliding his arms over Auctus' shoulders, kissing along his jaw. 

“I'm not Agron,” Auctus murmurs, gently kiss Duro's mouth one more time before stepping back, “I can't give you what you want.”

“I want you. I do. Forget about Agron,” Duro reaches for the ties on the front of Auctus' subligaria, but the other man evades him again, slipping out completely from his grasp. 

“Not like this, please,” Auctus shakes his head, “I can't do it like this with you.”

“What do you mean?” Duro presses his fingers to his now bruised lips. At Auctus' pained look, yearning and yet devastated, it all crashes down onto Duro's head. Had he really been so blind that he'd never truly noticed how dedicated Auctus has been? Taking punches and violent words for Duro. Protecting him, even if it's from himself. 

“Oh Auctus,” Duro gasps, taking a step forward only to have Auctus shake his head, smiling bitterly. 

“No, your majesty. Please do not look at me like that,” Auctus backs away, nearly tripping over the stake of the tent behind him, “Do not pity me like that.”

“Auctus, wait!” Duro calls as Auctus turns on his heel, nearly running from the prince. 

Turning back, Duro keeps his fist to his mouth. Everything is ruined, so fucked up, and he can't help but blame Nasir. Ever since he showed up, everything has been changing, turning into a nightmare that is robbing Duro of everyone around him. He needs to fix it before everything is lost. Squaring his shoulders and resolve, he begins to march over to the couple, lie forming in his mind. 

“Agron!” Duro greets, clapping his brother on the shoulder. Agron pulls away from whispering to Nasir to turn towards the other royal, smiling affectionately. 

“Hey little bear, where have you been hiding all day?” Agron grins, ruffling Duro's curls around his crown. 

“I've been around,” Duro shrugs, “I come with message from from the king.”

“What does he want now?” Agron crosses his arms over his chest, grimacing. “I'm showing Nasir the city.”

“He wishes you to attend the council meeting with Spartacus and Crixus. I am not required,” Duro shrugs, companionably motioning towards the little prince, “I can finish your tour. I'm sure Nasir wishes to see everything.”

“Do you mind?” Agron turns to look at Nasir, who silently shakes his head. 

“No, I'm alright with Duro. As long as it's not too much of a problem,” Nasir bows his head. It's submissive to Agron, but there is a hint of a glare at Duro when he lowers his head. 

“I shall probably be long,” Agron grimaces, nudging his knuckles under Nasir's chin, “I can meet you back at our tent for evening meal?”

“He doesn't need constant supervision. He's not a child,” Duro interjects, laughing at his own snide remark, “I'm sure he can survive a few hours without you. After all, you've barely been together a day.”

“Of course,” Nasir leans up on his toes to kiss Agron's cheek, eyes never leaving Duro's. It's a claim and Duro wants to reach forward, wants to push Nasir away, a surge of fury making his nails grow just slightly.

“He'll be in good hands, brother. You won't lose your little bride,” Duro teases, but there is a edge of bitterness to it that gives Agron pause. 

“See to it that you don't,” Agron nods, pecking Nasir's forehead and then Duro's cheek before striding away. “I'll return as soon as I can.”

Duro waits until Agron is far enough away he won't be able to hear before he turns back to Nasir. He's bent at the waist, pulling his shoes back on, and there is still a few flowers caught in his trestles. Duro has just a moment of guilt as Nasir turns his eyes up at him, and he catches the sight of pain. He can not even imagine what Nasir must be going through, having lost his entire family in one day. 

Then Nasir turns his head and reveals a dark kiss bruise on his throat, something that Duro is sure would match Agron's mouth perfectly, and the rage is back. Agron doesn't leave marks unless he means them. 

“Come Nasir,” Duro motions forward, “I would show you the wood around the city. I think you will enjoy the nature there.”

Nasir follows without a comment, pulling his thin robe around him. He can sense Duro's distrust and anger towards him. He supposes he deserves it to some degree. He did just show up and stake claim on Duro's brother, his partner. But Nasir wishes Duro would understand that it wasn't his choice. He can either make the best of the situation or drown in the sorrow of it all. 

They walk for a long time, not in a circle, but in a weaving path. It's enough time that the sun begins to set in the west, casting shadows and a cold breeze shifting through the trees. They haven't spoken at all, but Nasir has been watching Duro closely. His scowl has only darkened as they go on, body tense. He looks just like Agron like this, mouth curled in a sharp crease. Nasir wants to break the silence, but what can he truly say?

Crossing streams and overturned logs, Duro makes sure to keep the direction true, walking over five miles into the deep woods. They're nearly to the border of their lands, an invisible line that Duro has memorized from all his patrols with Agron and others. He doubts Nasir, an outsider who has lived his life surrounded by cloth and the desires of men, could ever truly understand what having a home would be like, but this is Duro's. And as a prince, he must do everything he can to protect it. 

Finally reaching the large oak tree that is a marker, Duro turns to look down at Nasir. There are leaves caught in his hair and a scratches on his arms from wayward branches, but his eyes are huge and dark, staring up at Duro with just slight fear. 

“Are you going to kill me?” Nasir asks, voice soft. He eyes the long sword on Duro's hip, wondering if it's sharp enough to make it one swoop or it will be harder to cut his head off.

“Do you want me to?” Duro replies, crossing his arms over his chest. He hadn't thought about it but it would present a permanent end to the problem. 

“No,” Nasir murmurs, not lowering his head but his fingers toy with the edges of his robe. 

“I want you to go. He doesn't belong to you. You have no reason to be here,” Duro shrugs, pointing behind him, “Your people went that way. You could catch up with them if they break camp tonight.”

“You are kicking me out?” Nasir asks, “What will you tell Agron? He told you not to lose me.”

“He doesn't want you. You're a play thing to him right now, something new and shiny that he will tire of and then leave later. I've seen him play this game many times. I am sparing both of you the energy needed for something like that.” Pulling his water canteen from his waist, Duro takes a long sip. “Honestly, he'll probably be glad I spared him the trouble. You are not the first boy I've had to let down because Agron can't be bothered.“

“I am his husband. He told me-” Nasir starts and then stops, scoffing at himself. Of course Agron is no different. Of course it was just a game. Everything that had been bubbling up in Nasir's chest had to be a lie. No one could possibly want a used whore like himself. And didn't he want to go home anyways?

“My mistake.”

“You are young. We all make them. But it would be a bigger mistake for you not to leave.” Duro moves to turn away, throwing over his shoulder, “I wouldn't bother trying to ever come back. Pietros is happy here with Barca. We can keep him on as a maid or something, give him purpose. It's just you, you need to be gone.”

“I will go,” Nasir nods, “but you must swear you will take care of Pietros. He deserves happiness.”

“I swear.” Duro takes another step before doubling back, “Oh Nasir?”

Nasir turns back, raising an eyebrow before he realizes what Duro is staring at. Reaching up with trembling fingers, he slowly pulls the crown from his head and his wedding ring from his hand. When he presses them into Duro's palm, his fingers are cold, freezing points that burn against Duro's skin. 

“Thank you.” Duro nods once before he takes off through the woods, running faster than the eye can track. 

Nasir slowly slides down the trunk of the tree, beginning to feel tiny droplets hitting his skin. It's raining and hadn't it been such a beautiful day earlier? Hadn't he been so warm in the sunshine with Agron's hand in his? And now it's all lost, washed away by the rain and Nasir's bitter tears. He hates that he's crying. Hates he's showing weakness over someone he doesn't even really know, but he had hoped, stupidly, that maybe this was going to turn out differently. Maybe the feeling growing in his chest was something – something of value.

A twisting pain jolts through his stomach, and Nasir cries out, pressing his palm to his abdomen. He can feel his magic churning there, growing hotter and hotter, a barely contained inferno. It's never acted like this before, Nasir can control some aspects of his magic, but it's never completely taken over him like this before. He can barely breathe, the pressure tight and inflating. Slumping to the side, Nasir tries to curl up on it, contain the pain and the surging glow that begins at his sternum and cuts down to his pelvis. 

Staring at his waist, Nasir bites his lip hard enough to bleed to contain his screams. It's a blinding golden light, and dancing within the beams are a pack of wolves, a snarling muzzle, a moon bursting into glitter that showers around Nasir. Tiny jewels swirling until Nasir can barely make out a face, half concealed except for black curls and glowing green eyes. And then, as suddenly as it begins, it stops and the forest falls back into silence. 

Nasir presses his hand back to his stomach, feeling the skin tingling against his palm, hot enough to burn. He knows what it means, but laying here with the wet dirt pressed to his face, he can do nothing. Instead, a wave of blackness sweeps across his eyes and Nasir loses consciousness. 

\- - - 

Agron sighs deeply, accepting the large cup of wine Spartacus pushes into his hand. He doesn't shift his gaze from the fire, trying to warm his bones. The rain is bitter, splattering against the sides of the tent and wetting the hide. It's no longer a summer rain, but instead threatens the changing seasons. He hasn't touched his plate of food that someone placed before him (he forgot to thank them), and it sits congealing grease on the bread. 

“You seem far from this place,” Spartacus murmurs conversationally, “What troubles you, brother?”

“Have you seen Duro?” Agron asks abruptly, turning to gaze around the camp for at least the hundredth time. 

“No, but I am sure he's around. Donar just got back. Perhaps they are sharing meal?” Spartacus offers, studying the prince's worried face. “Do you need his council?”

“No, he was to show Nasir around the city, but that was hours ago. Nasir promised to share meal with me and yet he is gone.” Agron stands, wiping hands on thighs. “Between the weather and newness of position - I fear the worst.”

The air inside the tent is thick from the fire and the people huddled together. They stare at their crown prince with large eyes, whispers at his lack of consort. Whatever gossip can get back to his father, be blamed on Agron once again. Agron wants to be away from it all, find his husband, and retire away from the prying eyes. 

“I'm sure we can locate them together. Perhaps Nasir wanted some time to himself. It was a difficult day.” Spartacus takes a long pull from his wine.

“I know, but Pietros has been in here this whole time and I imagine they would take solace together. I can't-” Agron scratches at the back of his neck, “I can't feel him.”

“Feel him?” Spartacus raises an eyebrow. 

“The magic. It lingers kind of like an ache,” Agron presses his hand to his chest before quickly moving it away, “A sparking that ignites full blown when he's close to me.”

“I did not take you for the kind to accept him so openly. You were furious when your father first thought to join you,” Spartacus isn't accusing, but calculating as Agron's face flushes slightly. 

“He's not what I expected, and I have found myself becoming attached.” Agron offers as an explanation, fiddling with his wedding ring, spinning it around and around. 

“Come, let us find your little prince. I will help you look.” Spartacus motions with his head towards the entrance of the room, side stepping people who stand and stare. 

Agron can only imagine what could have happened to them. The woods are dangerous at night and in this thunderstorm. Nasir doesn't know these lands. Agron has been trying to ignore the bubbling acid in his stomach, thinking of Nasir suddenly being ripped away from him. He doesn't want to name these emotions, but there is too much there too soon. 

He's nearly to the door when Agron feels fingers curl around his wrist, halting his movements. Turning sharply, Agron's relief turns to fury the moment he spots Donar instead of Nasir. 

“I have not seen you all day and yet I returned this morning,” Donar moves to draw closer to Agron, only stopping when he takes in the dangerous look in Agron's eyes. “Do you not wish for us to fall from sight? I have missed you.”

“Surely you have heard that I am married now,” Agron growls, roughly pulling away from Donar. “The time for childish games have long since passed.”

“I did not realize-” Donar's face falls, clearly confused. Agron and him had been falling to bed for a while. Not regularly and only when Agron wanted an easy mouth, but still. 

“I do not have time for this.” Turning, Agron shoves past people, making it out into the downpour. All that matters is finding Nasir and Duro. 

It's so dark out here without the moon or stars, a sheet of black that hides everything from him. It is only with the aid of the fire behind and his wolf eyes that he can make out the figure moving towards him. They're staggering, dropping a large amphora with a groan. Agron recognizes him instantly, rushing to meets him halfway, gripping the back of Duro's neck in his palm, ignoring the fact that they're both soaking wet. 

“Duro! Are you hurt? What happened?” Agron shouts above the storm, lifting Duro's face to check him out. 

“Big bear! I've been looking for you everywhere,” Duro giggles, voice slurring as he leans forward, pressing his mouth lax and wet to Agron's. He tries to deepen it, tongue heavy and without much finesse, but Agron pulls back.

“Are you drunk?” He asks, disbelieving. 

“I only drank some of the stuff in your tent,” Duro laughs, moving to lean on Agron but he's caught by his shoulders, held back. “It was the wedding stuff, but what's that matter now? I waited for you, but you never came to see me so I came to see you.”

“Duro,” Agron speaks slowly, feeling Spartacus come to stand beside him. “Where is Nasir?”

“What? Oh,” Duro waves his hand, “I took care of it. Don't worry.”

Agron wants to take a deep breath, calm down, but he can't breathe. If something happened to him, if Nasir is hurt, he doesn't think he'll ever be able to recover from it. Agron knows that much. And Duro's tone is so dismissive, not even slightly concerned. 

“Took care of it how?” Spartacus speaks for Agron, who is shaking with controlling himself. 

“He wanted to go home. He was sad. It wasn't going to last,” Duro slurs, waving his hand around. Agron catches a glint of metal on his arm and grabs his wrist, staring down in shock as Nasir's crown comes into focus, pushed up near his elbow. 

“You told him to leave?” Agron's hands slip from holding Duro still. The betrayal is deep, and cuts rougher than Agron has ever truly known. This is worse than Isolde. Worse than the first time Gerulf held him down and hit him over and over. 

“It was for the greater good,” Duro hiccups again, leaning heavily on Spartacus. “You didn't even want him. You were just going to fuck him and get tired of him. I just rid you of the problem early. If you want a consort so bad, we can find you one that isn't a used up whore.”

Agron doesn't even think as he pulls his hand back, rain stinging his eyes and flattening his hair. With a growl, Agron punches Duro hard across the face with a sickening crack, enough the younger prince falls to the side, would crash to the earth if it weren't for Spartacus' sure hands. Blood splatters down Duro's front, bottom lip split down the center and cheek bruising. 

“Agron,” Duro chokes out, drunken eyes swimming with tears. In all of their life, Agron has never laid hands on him like this. Never hurt him on purpose. Never took out his violence to this degree on Duro. 

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Agron screams, gripping Duro's shoulders and shaking him, “Do you have any idea what you have done? He could be dead, Duro! You could have killed my husband. And for what? Your petty fucking jealousy?”

“I was trying to help you,” Duro whimpers, letting Agron hurt him, knowing deep down he deserves it. 

“Help me? By killing my fucking consort?” Agron shouts, shoving Duro away from him, “You are not my brother right now.”

Duro gasps, eyes huge as the pain feels like he's being torn in two. Whimpering, he grips the edge of Agron's cloak, begging him. “I love you more than him. We were happy. Why do you need him?”

“Oh little bear,” Agron chokes out.

Agron feels instantly guilty, wanting to reach out and take Duro's face in his hands, but something stops him. Had he really let it get this far? Had Duro never seen that their playful little incest was leading to nothing? What did Duro expect, that they would end up married, ruling the kingdom like brother husbands? Gerulf would slaughter them both. And now, Nasir is out there somewhere, with no protection and wandering around the woods where who knows what could possibly be waiting for him. He has to get to Nasir first, and then deal with the repercussions of his actions. 

“Your highness, we should get out of the rain.” Spartacus murmurs, loud enough to get over the splattering but still subdued. “We can send out a search party for Nasir.”

“Alright. Bring him to-” Agron begins only to be cut off as a scream pierces the air. It barely sounds human, thrumming on the end almost like a wolf howl. Agron's hackles instantly raise as he whips his head around, looking for the source. He knows that voice.

“Agron!” Tove breaks through the barriers of trees, surrounded by six other guards, all of them soaking wet and covered in blood. A few of them hold each other up, clearly wounded. It's not their state though that Agron cares about, it's what Tove is carrying. 

Sprawled in his arms with one hand hanging down towards the ground is Nasir. His robe is gone, tiny scratches literally down his side, half covered in mud and leaves. He's missing his shoes and one leg of his pants is torn to the hip. There is blood oozing from a wound on his shoulder, looking black in the night light. 

“Tove,” Agron's voice cracks, sprinting to his cousin. He doesn't even hesitate, pulling Nasir securely up into his arms. His eyes are shut, lost to the world, and Agron's stomach drops. He looks so small like this, eyelashes wet and clinging to his cheeks, lips pale and nearly blue. 

“He's alive,” Tove pants, making sure Agron has Nasir before slumping, “We were attacked on the border. Nasir was holding them off by himself. Half the forest was on fire around him. If that guy hadn't gotten him in the shoulder, I think he may have won on his own.”

“Did you kill them?” Agron asks, holding Nasir tighter to his chest. He can hear his pulse but faint. And there is panic surging through Agron's veins, so tight he can barely breathe, can't think of anything but Nasir's cold skin against him.

“Yes, but Nasir's condition has been worsening as we moved. I tried to get here as fast as we could.” Tove bows low. “He was shooting off sparks earlier and mumbling about his stomach. He told me not to bring him back here, but I think he's just delirious.”

Agron turns back to glare at Duro, who is still slumped on the ground, half covered in mud now. He doesn't have the words, but the growling snarl that ghosts across his mouth seems to say it all. Duro instantly drops his head, submitting to the rage. He has no idea if they will ever come back from this. 

“Spartacus, find Naevia and Pietros. I need them in my tent now.” Agron commands, nodding to Tove, “Thank you.”

Without a backwards glance, Agron strides forward, holding his husband against his chest, praying its not too late. 

\- - - 

Pietros wipes his blood hands on the wet rag, patting the clean side to his forehead. He aches all the way down to his bones, shoulders stiff and sore from hunching over Nasir. Naevia shares a look with him, pushing her long braids over her shoulder. There is blood on her wrists, having had to pull tiny thorns from Nasir's side with her fingernails. 

“Should we go get Agron?” Pietros asks, voice rough with lack of sleep and moisture. 

“In a moment, I want to make sure Nasir is secure before we let the brute back inside.” Naevia smiles, teasing tone seeming strange in the dim light tent. “You must think the worst of him.”

“He is violent,” Pietros comments offhandedly, rolling up the wrappings he had used on Nasir's shoulder. “But he seemed concerned for Nasir.”

“I've never seen him act that way,” Naevia confesses, “I mean, he was laughing and joking with Crixus when Spartacus got stabbed in the shoulder. Duro broke his arm in a wrestling match and Agron clapped him on the back and asked him when he was going to stop bitching and come spar with him.”

She brushes Nasir's hair back from his face, smiling softly down at him. She isn't sure why, but she has a sudden and fierce attachment to the boy. Even after only having a single conversation with him, watching the way Agron and Nasir clung to each other, blooming flowers and the smell of jasmine. Nasir had been so charming, so calm – the oasis to the storm that always seems to linger around Agron – the thunder rumbling behind every word. 

“Do you think he is going to hurt him?” Pietros wonders, not sure he wants to hear her answer. 

“I don't know,” Naevia answers honestly, blowing out a candle on the far way, helping cast the bed as the only lighted section of the room. “I won't let him get away with it if he does.”

“You and me both.”

Pietros sits next to Nasir, brushing his fingertips over the soft furs covering Nasir's stomach. A spark snaps up, shocking Pietros – a flash of a snarling wolf, huge with reddish fur, sitting at least five feet tall, a tiny little boy between his large paws. He's tan, with a nestle of curls along his head and huge green eyes, completely naked except for a tiny crown, a crescent moon peeking out along his forehead. 

Shocked, Pietros is immobilized, watching as a breeze seems to flow through the scene, ruffling his curls, and the strong scent of spices fills the air. He knows what it means, can see it clear as day, but wonders if Nasir knows. If he's guessed. It's been so quick. The scent growing and the child curls his tiny fist in the wolf's fur, staring up at him – eyes eerily glowing the same neon green. Then it's gone and Nasir's eyelashes are fluttering. 

“Agron?” Nasir gasps, gaze focusing on the candle on the table nearby. 

“Hey,” Naevia soothes, bending down to gently brush Nasir's hair from his cheeks, “It's alright. We're right here.”

“I'm not supposed to be,” Nasir's voice is so faint, both Pietros and Naevia have to put their heads nearly touching over his mouth to hear him. “Why am I here?”

“What do you mean you're not supposed to be here?” Pietros shakes his head, smoothing the blankets around him, “Of course you are. What were you doing out there in the woods anyways? Did you get turned around?”

Nasir can hear a whispered mantra over and over in his head, continued spiral that nearly takes all of his barely there energy to hear. It's Agron's voice, a harsh whisper that he must not realize he's transmitting to Nasir. 

_Not him. Not today. Fuck. He's okay. It's okay._

It's conflicting, with the voice in Nasir's head breaking on each word. He doesn't know what to make of it, is too tired to try and figure it out or put reasons onto things. All he wants is Agron's arms around him, his fingers in Nasir's hair. Wants that comforting caress of Agron's breath on his neck. 

“Do you want us to go get your husband?” Naevia asks, ignoring the way Nasir flinches at the words. He doesn't nod exactly, but lowers his eyelids, hoping he won't be able to muster the ability to cry. He's too fucking tired for that. Can he even call Agron that anymore though? Someone who will eventually find a way to get rid of him?

“Nasir, you are safe now,” Pietros soothes, taking his quietness – his forlornness – for fear instead of anguish. 

“I'm going to go get Agron. He's been nearly hysterical since he carried you inside,” Naevia smiles, patting Nasir's hand before standing. Pietros waits until she is gone before turning knowing eyes on Nasir. He smooths his hand back over Nasir's stomach, but this time there is no vision, just Nasir's expression turning worried. 

“Don't,” Nasir tries weakly, only having the strength to wave his fingers at Pietros. “I don't have the energy. Just let me sleep, whatever it is.”

“Do you know?” Pietros narrows his eyes, searching his best friend's face. “You have to know.”

“Know what?” Nasir whines, pulling the blankets up higher on him. He doesn't want to deal with this right now, and what is taking Agron so long? And why does he want Agron in the first place? Nasir does not know if he will be able to handle the disappointment in Agron's eyes. 

“Nasir, you know your magic. You know what it's telling you,” Pietros grips Nasir's hand in his own, “What were you doing in the woods? Were you running away?”

“Pietros-” Nasir begins, every word he speaks feels like he's pulling deep from within him, dragging all his energy with it. 

“You can not run from this,” Pietros snaps vehemently. “You can't do this to yourself or to him. It's your life. You must work together. You're married.”

“Pietros!” Nasir sparks up, a new wave of magic suddenly hitting him. “I didn't run away and I was leaving because of...because of that. I would never leave you behind willingly.”

“Then why were you in the woods by yourself?” Pietros asks, watching as Nasir deflates, the glow in his eyes lessening as he blinks slowly. 

“That was my fault,” Agron speaks up. He's been slowly making his way across the tent, allowing the two men to have their conversation in semi-private. He looks so haggard that Nasir actually narrows his eyes, trying to see him in the semi-dark. He's carrying something shiny between his hands, holding it like it's precious. 

Naevia had lashed him outside, yelling in her whispered violence. Agron had let her, just nodding along, not trying to defend himself. Everyone was going to blame Duro, if they knew, but Agron had left Nasir with him – it was his fault. He knew he deserved any harsh words said. He should have never let Duro trick him like that. There was no council meeting, but when Agron had shown up with Spartacus, Gerulf had called one. Agron had been stuck listening to Mira and Saxa fight about what was going into the Moon Festival coming up. Then Lugo started about hunting rights and three hours later, Agron was trying not to fall asleep, trading notes with Spartacus on who was going to crack first. 

“What did you do?” Pietros snarls, standing with hands raised, a lick of a flame curling over his fingers. 

“Pietros,” Nasir murmurs, rolling his head to the side, “It's okay.”

“I left Nasir with the wrong person. I thought he would be safe,” Agron bows his head, “This is my fault.”

“I thought you were supposed to be a high prince, a warrior, a fucking king in training,” Pietros hisses, stepping forward, guarding Nasir, “Are we just expendable to you? Do you have any idea what could have happened to him? Did you buy us just to throw us away when you got tired?”

“No! Of course not. I didn't know this was going to happen.” Agron defends, looking around Pietros to see Nasir, “I would never hurt you. I swore to you that I am not that man.”

“I know.” Nasir whispers, fading quickly.

“I was so fucking worried about you. I thought we were going to be too late,” Agron's voice cracks, ignoring Pietros for Nasir instead. “I didn't know what I would have done had you been...had you been…” Agron trails off, trying to reclaim his control. It's just that Nasir looks so tiny in their bed and so weak. 

“I think you should go.” Pietros crosses his arms over his chest. “Nasir needs his rest.”

“Do you want me to?” Agron keeps his gaze on Nasir, but he's too weak to reply, just staring up at Agron with half lidded eyes. 

He takes the silence as consent. Nodding, Agron takes a step forward, moving slowly until he he reaches the bed. The candle on the side table – the only light in the tent – casts dark shadows over them. Agron ignores Pietros' quiet growl, instead, he stares down at his new consort. He's so pale, lips dry and eyes dark. Agron wants to pull him into his arms, hold him close, apologize over and over until he can somehow make it up to him. Promise he'll never leave Nasir's side again as long as he promises never to scare him like that again. 

Bending down, Agron offers the only apology he can. He sets Nasir's crown next to him, knuckles brushing over his wrist lightly before holding his hand. Cupping the back of it, Agron slowly lowers a small ring into his palm, the runes glimmer as they touch Nasir's skin – his wedding band returned to him – before Agron closes his fingers over it, making sure Nasir has it securely. Up close like this, Agron can see the dark rings under Nasir's eyes, the bruise on his cheek. Agron looks just as bad, a deep frown to his mouth – worry creasing his brow. 

It's with a sudden flick of light that a tiny green sprout pushes up from the bed between Nasir's lax fingers, curling up towards their touching skin. It nestles against them for a minute, before a tiny jasmine blooms, purple petals uncurling extremely slow until it lays open over them. 

“Don't go,” Nasir croaks, “Please.”

“Nasir-” Pietros starts warningly, turning to glare down at the pair. 

“I will do whatever it is that you want me to do,” Agron whispers, fingers coming up to caress Nasir's unmarred cheek, “Tell me what I can do to help you.”

“Just stay.” 

Nasir feels the quiet pull of sleep coming over him, magic finally soothed at having Agron so close. Nasir knows it then, is sure that his magic has chosen Agron, given itself over to him. And the child newly formed in Nasir's stomach. 

Leaning forward, Agron gently lays his mouth against Nasir's forehead in a tender kiss, before drawing back. He turns to look up at Pietros, but instead of anger, he finds tears. Pietros turns away when he realizes Agron is watching him, trying to quickly wipe at his face.

“Pietros,” Agron whispers, moving after him and managing to catch him by the door. 

“Our mothers were best friends,” Pietros chokes on his words, trying to quiet his sobbing, “I was two years old when Nasir was born and four when my mother and his got taken from us. She made me promise to always look out for him, but what can I do here? What can I possible do to defend him against men like you?”

Agron feels the sting all the way through him, feeling like he's gutted. Was he really the monster that everyone thought he was? Maybe Celsus had been right. Maybe he was just a beast, but he would never hurt the sleeping boy in his bed. He didn't know why. He didn't want to try and figure out his feelings or emotions right now. But Nasir had opened up just like his flowers, had bloomed and Agron was addicted to his scent – wanted to protect and cherish every petal within him. 

“Fire,” Agron murmurs, reaching out to gently take Pietros' hand, turning it over until their palms rest together, “We can not recover from it. It burns our magic out of us. It's one of the only true ways to kill us.”

Pietros' dark eyes track over Agron's face, trying to figure him out. He doesn't understand what Agron is suggesting, because if he is what Pietros thinks, then this is something else. 

“If I turn into that, if I hurt him and he refuses to turn from me. I want you to kill me,” Agron continues, “because if I get to that point, all that is left is the wolf and not the man.”

“Your majesty,” Pietros' eyes widen, words failing him as he truly looks at Agron. 

“I am not my father.”

There are dark circles under his eyes, hair a little wild. When he had first carried Nasir in, he was nearly hysterical, begging and shouting for Naevia to do something. They had to pick the thorns from Nasir's side and Agron wouldn't stop pacing. He wanted to be holding Nasir, but he would have just been in the way and when Naevia had finally snapped and yelled at him to leave, Agron let out the softest whimper – completely wolf like – before Spartacus had to fight him out of the room. 

“Your tent is complete. It is the one directly to the left of ours, but if you want to stay in this one, I see no problem in it. There is an extra cot in the corner.” 

Agron nods once, back to princely and royal, not like the broken man before. He turns on his heel, walking over across to the bed again, and Pietros watches as he strips down, curling his body along Nasir's – resting against him as he strokes Nasir's cheek. He lets out a sound, and Pietros doesn't even know what it is. It's half whimper half whine, before nuzzling his cheek against Nasir's ear, burying his face in his hair, and then he's asleep, one hand unconsciously curled around the flat planes of Nasir's stomach.


End file.
